


Scars

by bisexualowain



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-28
Updated: 2015-12-28
Packaged: 2018-05-09 21:56:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5556977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bisexualowain/pseuds/bisexualowain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Owain and Brady discuss scars and their meaning. A lot of kissing is involved.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scars

The night was quiet and dark with the new moon in the grassy plains at the borders of Ylisstol. The only light visible there was a flickering glow of green coming from the inside of a tent, one of many that stood in the plains.

The light was constantly oscillating, casting an aura of green on the inside of the tent, where two young men, yet only one cot, stood.

“Keep some pressure on it,” ordered the rough voice of the priest, even if he was so tired that the phrase didn’t seem as commanding as it probably should be.

“Will do!” the myrmidon enthusiastically replied, still energetic despite the late hour.

“Idiot,” Brady muttered, with a mix of anger and acceptance in his voice, while he struggled to keep hold of the staff he was using on the other man.

“Jerk,” Owain immediately retorted, a small smile on his lips as he held his left arm in place, and the light finally waned, leaving no sign of the deep cut that had been there prior.

Sighing and swiping the sweat off his brow, the taller man let his healing staff fall to the ground before them, before turning to face the other, once more.

“Aww, lame, no scar this time either!” he exclaimed, feeling up and looking his arm over.

His boyfriend, however, was still not amused, striking him on the top of the head with the back of his hand, weakly and shakily, before its palm came to rest on his messy hair, brushing it gently.

There was no strength at all behind that ‘blow’, but it caught Owain’s attention nonetheless.

“Ya gotta stop playin’ hero for me,” Brady told him with a serious tone.

Owain caught the hand that played with his hair, and took it in his own, before speaking. “Never, I’m always the hero.”

Brady already knew the answer would be that, and he had his own already prepared, as well. “Fine, keep sayin’ that stuff, ‘til it’s yer head that gets split open. That’ll nab ya a nice scar to brag about, but oh wait, who will ya brag to when you’re dead, jackass?”

“I won’t need to brag at all. I will know that I saved you, and that’s all that matters to me,” was his response, and this time Brady was not prepared for it.

“…Stop sayin’ shit what gives me feelings, goddamnit!” the priest exclaimed.

“A-Ah, sorry! I… don’t know what came over me… probably my untamable blood of legends… it gets too wild for even me to tame, sometimes!” the myrmidon hurriedly proposed, in his own way of apologizing.

Brady then thrust himself forward, into his companion’s awaiting embrace; already born of instinct by this point in their relationship.

“Hmm, Owain of the wet shoulder…!” he murmured.

“C-Come again?” Brady asked, his voice muffled by Owain’s night shirt.

“Owain of the wet shoulder, they will call me when singing ballads about our affections!” the youth explained, with a dopey smile on his face.

“Ya wantin’ out, punk?” the teary-eyed violinist inquired, as a pout formed on his lips.

“No, I will fully embrace it!” Owain noted, ruffling the top of Brady’s spiky ‘do.

The violinist was glad that they were both under the cover of darkness, or Owain would be able to see his blushing cheeks, and would have given them a comment or twelve.

“Well uh… Why do ya even wanna have scars, anyway?” he then asked the myrmidon, hoping to distract the man from his bashfulness, as he pulled himself away from his arms.

“Why wouldn’t I? They add such mystique to one’s persona! They’re a permanent reminder of your bravery in combat!” the shorter man explained himself, seeming entirely too happy about the concept for his own good.

“…Ya mean it’s ‘cuz… they look cool?” the thuggish-looking one questioned.

“Yes, Brady, ‘tis the cool factor speaking,” he confirmed.

“They sure ain’t cool to me… since most of mine are from my crap luck!” the priest exclaimed.

“Yes, they are! And I mean, really, you get the cool scars without even having to be injured in battle!” the poet pointed out, gesturing dramatically like he often did.

“I guess… But are mine really that cool?” Brady inquired.

“The coolest I have ever seen,” Owain admitted, leaning forward to kiss his boyfriend’s most prominent and iconic scar, pressing his lips along the shape of it on his companion’s brow.

Moving to grace his lips, Owain kissed him there, this time less tender but more passionately, interspaced with smiles and giggles as the pair just seemed to enjoy each other’s presence and proximity. It didn’t take much for their hands to busy themselves with unbuttoning their night shirts, exposing their upper bodies.

“Can you lay on your back?” the poet asked, and Brady obeyed without hesitation, making himself comfortable on the cot.

Straddling his boyfriend’s waist, Owain began to pay even more attention to the myriad of scars that Brady had collected over the years, feeling their grooves and paths with his index finger.

“O-Owain, what are ya doin’ there?” he inquired, blushing heavily for the attention he was being given.

“Proving my point,” the poet simply replied, before he leaned on top of his lover, who promptly wrapped his arms around him.

The first kiss, on a scar that Brady had on the left of his collarbone, was brief, but the ones that followed it more than made up for that. Being guided the shape of the mark, Owain pressed himself more firmly against the other man, hoping he’d enjoy the feeling and the warmth of the bared skin against his own.

Brady most definitely did. Being given this degree of attention and caressing was still a new concept to him, but it certainly wasn’t something he could complain about. Closing his eyes and sighing in content, the priest decided to indulge in whatever this new crazy idea of Owain’s was.

The myrmidon always had the urge to bite his partner during intimate times and he knew for a fact that the one in question enjoyed that little aspect of him, however, this time he had to hold back. The kisses he was giving, however, proved to be just as able to stay his hungry mouth.

Feeling the ridge of a scar on the left side of Brady’s chest, Owain began drawing patterns with his fingers on his companion’s skin, following the trace of that scar, which was probably a burn mark from a careless moment in the priest’s past, but now it was Owain’s to kiss.

The kissing continued, trailing down a cluster of small marks on Brady’s abdomen, and eventually reaching Owain’s favorite, the one on Brady’s right hipbone, which was no stranger to the poet’s bites during private moments.

As if being guided there by familiarity, Brady’s hand came to be once more on his boyfriend’s messy hair, this time pulling it slightly as he kissed, and then licked that particular mark on him – the latter of the two actions making him squirm.

“Are ya done?” the priest voiced, seeming a lot more relaxed than he were when the activity began.

“Not quite, I still have some areas to cover… lay on your stomach, now,” the myrmidon explained, pressing his lips one last time on the hipbone before him.

After sharing a quick peck with the other man, Brady did as instructed, supporting his head with his arms under it, closing his eyes once more for Owain to surprise him, and that he did.

With a quick pull, he managed to get Brady’s pants off, then freeing himself of his own not long after.

“How far are ya goin’?” Brady snorted, not particularly plussed by the removal of his pants, but also not about to miss the chance to make a comment.

“I’m still just kissing,” the myrmidon laughed, carefully climbing now on top of Brady, and adding, “I just think there’s more body contact that way.”

“And I still can’t complain a bit,” the priest sighed as he felt Owain’s weight leaning on him, to slowly and tenderly kiss a small set of scars on his shoulder blades.

“Do they hurt?” the shorter man asked, between small kisses, still on the same spot, his breath even warmer than his skin against Brady’s.

“A lil’ bit sometimes, but not now. K-Keep goin’” the priest assured him, making the other man smile wide, knowing that his job was being appreciated.

Brady purred while being kissed there, making Owain think that he should have done so a lot earlier, despite still not being used to that sound coming from Brady. The myrmidon figured they still had much of their intimacies to know and explore.

“Do you… want me to do something more than kissing?” the poet then whispered into Brady’s ear, not knowing what his answer would be, but being satisfied with what they had for now.

The healer then rolled over, on his back again and now facing his boyfriend. “Yes,” he affirmed, with a smirk on his face.

Owain nodded in response and promptly began to trail down Brady’s body with kisses again, this time to places previously untouched…


End file.
